


William Bush, Oldster

by sanguinity



Category: Hornblower - C. S. Forester
Genre: Alcohol, Birthday, Gen, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-02-28 07:40:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18751984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanguinity/pseuds/sanguinity
Summary: Will turns fifteen, old enough to drink with the senior members of the midshipman's berth.





	William Bush, Oldster

**Author's Note:**

> A tumblr anon prompted: "William Bush’s birthday"
> 
> Originally posted [on tumblr](https://sanguinarysanguinity.tumblr.com/post/183754264053/prompt-suggestion-william-bushs-birthday-and).

Supper finished and cleared away, Will watched in shivery anticipation as Mr Jakes fixed the fork in the mess table, signaling that the midshipman’s berth was thenceforth adults-only for the rest of the evening. Tom and the other youngsters meekly stood to retreat to their hammocks in the gunroom — Mr Jakes was quick and vicious with the colt, as they all well knew — but Will remained where he was.

“Well then?” said Mr Brimson, the captain’s clerk, warning in his voice. He had obviously been looking to spread into the space Will occupied.

Will sat up taller, willing down the nervousness in his stomach. “I’m fifteen today, sir.”

Across the table, Mr Jakes heard. He inspected Will closely, but Will knew his rights, and was determined not to flinch.

“A birthday, is it?” Mr Jakes asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Old enough to sit with the men now, are you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Drink with the men?”

“Yes, sir,” Will said again, warming to his theme.

A smile spread across Mr Jakes face, and Will relaxed a little. Mr Jakes turned to the rest of the mess. “Well, it’s the lad’s birthday, I think we owe him a party! What say you? Contribute some rum to the cause?”

It was not a question — Mr Jakes ruled the midshipman’s berth with an iron fist, and his suggestions were as good as orders — but the assent to his proposition was hearty enough.

“Sir, thank you, sir!” Will said, incredulous at his good fortune. It was a better welcome to the adult mess than he had hoped.

“Only what you’d do for us,” Mr Jakes said, his smile broad and beaming. He reached out to tip a generous portion of his mug into Will’s. Mr Brimson did the same, and Mr Oatwell after that, filling Will’s mug near to the brim. “Well, drink up!” Mr Jakes urged. “Make room for more!”

“Yes, sir, thank you, sir!” Will said, and drank heartily, feeling the warmth all down into his stomach.

 

It was a delightful birthday, Will remembered that much of it. There was singing and dancing, and much laughter, too. Will did most of the singing, he vaguely recalled later, and all of the dancing, but the men called for more, and Will, proud to be so well-accepted among the grown men of the berth, was more than pleased to provide.

“Let the boy alone,” Mr Giffen said sourly, well into the revelry, and Will turned hurt and confused eyes on him.

“The boy’s well enough,” Mr Jakes returned. He scribbled on a piece of paper. “Who’s officer of the watch? Here, lad,” he said, and folding the paper, pressed it into Will’s hand. “Take that to Mr Symonds.”

The sea was lively that night, despite the calm weather during the dog watch earlier; Will struggled on the ladders as he climbed to the deck. The marine sentry at the quarterdeck steps eyed Will curiously as he passed, but Will ignored him, continuing doggedly on up to the quarterdeck. Mr Symonds, lieutenant of the watch, stood near the binnacle, hands clasped behind his back, standing tall and steady despite the wild sea.

“Mr Jakes’ compliments, sir,” Will said, offering him the note.

Mr Symonds glowered down at Will for a long moment. “Are you drunk, Mr Bush?” He snatched the note from Will’s hand, unfolded it, and tilted it to the binnacle’s light. He snorted in disgust at whatever he saw there. “Who gave you rum?” he demanded, turning his hawk-like gaze back on Will.

Will’s self-preservation had fled, driven out by expansive well-being. “I’m fifteen, sir,” Will protested, proud of his advanced station, old enough now to draw his own ration of rum. “Fifteen today.”

Mr Symonds glared at Will. The ship heaved under them. Mr Symonds reached out and — as neatly as picking up a kitten by its scruff — fisted the shoulder of Will’s uniform and set him back on his feet.

“Saints preserve us,” he sighed. Someone laughed.

Mr Symonds marched Will to the taffrail, stood him roughly beside it. “You’ll do well to remember that Mr Jakes is no friend of yours,” he scolded. It seemed an unkind thing to say; Mr Jakes had been very friendly. “Now stand there and sober up, you little fool.”

“Sir, aye aye sir,” Will said, and did as he was told.

“Silence there, Mr Bush!” Mr Symonds boomed out sometime later, and Will snapped his mouth shut. He had been singing, he realised. Singing to the stars; he had never seen the stars so beautiful, not in Chichester, not anywhere. “Or I’ll yet have you seized into the shrouds for drunkenness!”

“Aye aye, sir,” Will whispered.

And the stars swung crazily in the sky, wild in their awesome beauty, keeping Will company.


End file.
